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“A cravat? Really?” “It’s kind of my thing,” Waxillium said. “The gentleman bounty hunter.”
“I knew you were faking. Even Rusko wouldn’t hire someone that uncoordinated, no matter how pretty her legs are.” “Can we go jump out a window now, please?” she said,
“Jump?” “Sure. Why not break both my legs before getting shot? Might as well go all in, Mister Cravat.”
Hammondar Bay
Most everyone in the room was a despicable piece of trash, but the others had the decency not to look like it.
Marasi was a strong person. She thought clearly in times of stress; she did what needed to be done, even if it was unpleasant. However, she was also very keen on dressing nicely and making herself up.
Wax had only the slightest hint of what the man was trying to accomplish. It can make anyone into an Allomancer, you see … If we don’t use it, someone else will. Words from the book Ironeyes had given him.
“It’s bad, my lord,” he said more softly. “Politics is involved.”
They were called Steelrunners, Feruchemists who could store up speed. They’d have to move slowly for a time, then could draw upon that reserve later.
Metalborn
He’d always found it odd that so many died when they were old, as logic said that was the point in their lives when they’d had the most practice not dying.
“Proper loafing requires company. One man lying about is being idle; two men lying about is a lunch break.”
“Greet every morning with a smile. That way it won’t know what you’re planning to do to it?”
“Until you know it ain’t true, treat every woman like she has an older brother what is stronger than you are?” “No, not … Wait, I said that?” “Yes,” Wax said, turning back to his notes. “It was a very chivalrous moment for you.”
“I can write—I know four whole letters, and one’s not even in my name!”
“If you’re going to have to do something awful, stop by Wax’s room and trade for some of his rum first.” “I don’t believe you’ve ever said that.” “I just did.” Wayne took a gulp of the rum.
“Wanna piece of advice?” “From you? Probably not. But please feel free.” “You should stop by Wax’s room before you go,” Wayne said, trailing out toward the door, “and pinch some of his rum.” “The rum you just pocketed?” Wayne hesitated, then took the rum out of his pocket. “Ah, mate. Sorry. Tough for you.” He shook his head. Poor fellow. He pulled the door closed behind him, took a pull on the rum, and continued on his way down the stairs and out of the mansion.
Out of work, Marasi thought. Too many idle men out of work. Motorcars and electric lights were changing life in Elendel so quickly it seemed that the common man had no hope of keeping up. Men whose families had worked for three generations in the same job suddenly found themselves unemployed. And with the labor disputes at the steel mills … The governor had recently given political speeches to these men, making promises.
The air smelled soft here. Soft air. A stupid metaphor, and yet there it was. That smell reminded him of his mother.
He has a right to be here,” Vwafendal said. “He has as much Terris blood as you do; more than most.” The Terrisman Brute started, then rose from his bow, peering again at Wax. “You don’t mean…” “Yes,” Vwafendal said, looking very tired. “This is he. My grandson.”
The Elendel University. It was time for Wayne’s three tests.
The etched letters over the top proclaimed, in High Imperial, WASING THE ALWAYS OF WANTING OF KNOWING. Deep words. He’d heard them interpreted as, “The eternal desire of a hungry soul is knowledge.” When Wayne’s soul was hungry he settled for scones, but this place was full of smart kids, and they were a strange sort.
“I ain’t drunk,” Wayne said, sniffling. “I’m investigatin’ alternative states of sobriety.
Spectacles. They were kind of like a hat for smart people.
“Tell me what you did,” she said. That voice. It could have been the voice of winter itself. “I don’t—” “Tell me.” The third trial. “I killed your daddy,” Wayne said softly, looking at the picture. “I mugged him in an alley for his pocketbook. I shot a better man than me, and because of that, I don’t deserve to be alive.” “You know you aren’t forgiven.”
“You’re not lying, are you?” “Of course not. I’d have shot you right in the head, Wayne.” “You’re a good friend,” Wayne said. “Thanks, Wax.” “You’re the only person I know that I can cheer up by promising to kill him.”
“Your grasp of the language is startling,” Wax said, “considering how you so frequently brutalize it.” “Ain’t nobody what knows the cow better than the butcher, Wax.”
You had to adapt. Move. Change. That was good, but it could also threaten identity, connection, and sense of purpose. The governor’s guards studied the crowd with hostility, muttering about miscreants, as if seeing the crowd as barely contained malefactors who were looking for any excuse to riot and loot. To the contrary, these people wanted something stable, something that would let them sustain their communities or forge new ones. Rioting was rarely caused by greed, but frequently by frustration and hopelessness.
The people didn’t actually care about Winsting. It was the deeper corruption, the feeling of powerlessness, that was destroying this city.
“As for the floods in the east, we are sending relief. Your friends and relatives there shall be succored. We stand with them in the face of this disaster.” Not good, she noted. The people don’t want to hear about aid going outside the city, no matter how necessary, not while things are growing worse and worse here …
“Everyone’s an exception to something, Wax.
There are no good men, Bleeder said. Choice is an illusion, lawman. There are those created to be selfish and there are those created to be selfless. This does not make them good or evil, any more than the ravaging lion is evil when compared to the placid rabbit.
The wound hurt like hell, but there was something about the mists … He felt stronger in them. It shouldn’t be so—he was no Pewterarm—but there it was.
Most bullets wouldn’t actually stop a man; psychologically, the panic of being shot did the most harm.
If we happen to survive, please don’t tell TenSoon that I murdered a bunch of people again. It upsets him.
So Wayne did the only reasonable thing. He spat out his gum, then decked the fellow.
Metal. In some ways, that was the true mark of mankind. Man tamed the stones, the bones of the earth below. Man tamed the fire, that ephemeral, consuming soul of life. And combining the two, he drew forth the marrow of the rocks themselves, then made molten tools.
How did you outthink something so old, so knowledgeable? The solution seemed easy. You didn’t try.
“I don’t hate you,” Wayne said. “I find you repulsive. That there is an important distinction, it is.”
“Leave?” Innate said. “Have you seen what is going on in the city?” Wax nodded. “I—” “Labor strikes,” Innate continued as if he hadn’t heard Wax. “Food prices skyrocketing. Too many men from one job out of work, too many from another demanding to be treated better. Rusts, there are practically riots in the streets, man! And the scandal. I can’t leave. My career would be over.” “Better than your life being over.”
Sir, whatever her real motives are, she’s obviously trying to strain Elendel. She wants this city to break.”
“Temper?” Wayne said, passing him. “That’s a funny name for it, mate, but if the ladies like you givin’ silly names to your body parts, I ain’t gonna say nothin’.”
“Sometimes,” Wayne said, “Wax forgets he’s a person and starts thinkin’ he’s a rock instead.” “It’s Wayne-speak,” Wax said, grabbing some coasters and starting another tower. “For times when he thinks I should be a little more empathetic.”
Cett
a warm cup of dark tea. It smelled strong, cooked down to increase the concentration of caffeine. She tried a sip. Yup. Awful. She drank another sip anyway.